


it's getting hard to see the sun coming through

by pluvieux



Category: Original Work, Poetry - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Poetry, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvieux/pseuds/pluvieux
Summary: i love you,what are we going to do?
//// (every planet we reach is dead)





	

a love backed out of before it even got a chance to began  
looking back logically,  
kisses + calluses without any meaning.

you weren't even breathtaking,  
but you stole my speech once or twice 

here's to me obstinately picking up something to  
blockade the door to my heart,  
locking several (cough, MANY) locks +  
handing the key to a stranger

outside eyes will guide inside,  
\+ unbiased will lead biased,  
my desperation (for your touch, your love)  
will go ignored by me 

speak up!  
my mind yells  
but my breath hitches still,

\+ i reside in combat with myself

bright brown eyes, almost copper  
streaks of sunlight painted onto your irises 

sighing relief when your eyes finally burn into my soul  
mesmerising, truly

\--------

he pulls my hand up onto the rock, slinging the telescope + duffel bags from his shoulders + onto the surface. looking up, i disappointedly note, for the millionth time, that stars like to shy away sometimes. the few i see, bits + pieces of constellations, still steal me away as the colours of the sunset tries to woo me. 

"why won't you listen to me?" i mutter. he does not hear me. "don't you understand that i am an exoplanet with six suns?"  
i look at him.  
he is breathing, + all i can think about is copper sulfate, + i wonder how it'd take mol/L to see what colour his eyes would be when you put the fire out

"why won't you listen to me?" i ask, a bit louder this time. all times in my head. i don't quite have that secret handshake with myself yet

when i thrust my hands into my chest, gripping around my heart, desperately clutching to anything that's there, instead of going through my vocal box, the words stick to my fingers + when i rip them out, i write them down, i paint them + i puke them up, but they never roll off of my tongue ;; 

ache


End file.
